Chapter 7
At the sound of flapping wings, the Spymaster slinked out of her white tent, her gloved fingers trailing on the fabric causing it to ripple. Instinctively she straightened her forearm out and an ebony bird gently landed on her, its talons wrapping around her forearm. Using her knuckle, Leliana stroked the Raven's beak softly, before she took the scroll off of its leg. Quickly unraveling the scroll and reading it over, the Nightingale pecked the Raven on the head before sending it off.
Her purple cape swept behind her as she strode into the Chantry, it's large ornate doors already open. Raised voices could be heard as soon as Leliana entered.
"But what exactly did you say to the Herald, Cullen?" Josephine emphasized her words, attempting to get an answer.
"Nothing!" Cullen replied quickly. It was the day after Ashlyn fled Haven, and the Council was anxiously waiting for any information on her whereabouts. The Commander shook his curls in exasperation. "Ugh, she was upset about what I didn't say. That I never told her that I knew about her brothers' deaths and my presence in Kirkwall at the time."
"She is cross with the entire Inquisition Cullen, not just you." Cassandra stepped in, "She feels betrayed." The Seeker had also felt slightly let down, as she was not instructed to chase after the Herald. Cullen had explained it was out of concern for Cassandra's health and well-being — that she had needed to rest, and recover the most out of all of the Inquisition. She had accepted it but was not satisfied.
"Yet I am the one she sought out to scold." He pressed a gloved finger into his own chest. "I am the one she ran away from."
"You are not to blame, for any of this. We all should have used more discretion, for the Herald's sake." Cassandra countered.
"Either way, our only hope for closing the Breach is gallivanting across Thedas, cursing my name, who-knows-where!" Cullen snarled, throwing his hands up in the air in defeat.
"I know where," Leliana spoke up, startling the group. She waved the small scroll in her hands, "My scouts reported that she has left the Stormcoast, with Solas and Varric."
Cassandra let out of a sigh of relief. "Thank the maker."
"It was a very short visit, as she only traveled there to hire a mercenary group — the Chargers. Their leader, the Iron Bull has joined the Herald's personal squad and they are traveling again."
Josephine pinched the bridge of her nose. "The Chargers?! They had sent me many proposals, but I had rejected them. The Inquisition does not have the funds right now to employ such a group."
"A bold move by the Herald. I respect it." Cassandra's smirk received a glare from the Ambassador.
"So now the Herald is traveling with a full squad. Where are they going?" Cullen inquired, chewing the inside of his lip.
"My scouts report that they are nearing… the Fallowmire." Leliana's stated in her wispy voice.
The Commander's knuckles cracked as he made a fist. "I knew it. She is going after my missing soldiers."
"She said she was going to do what you wouldn't, right?" Cassandra asked, crossing her arms over her chest.
Cullen nodded, his jaw clenched. "They are walking into a trap. The Fallowmire is a snare in itself!" His lip snarled in frustration. "They are not prepared for this."
"The Iron Bull is a Qunari. He will be a great aid for them."
"But she is angry. She is being impulsive. Emotional. That could get her killed." He hissed.
Cassandra intervened, "You have yet to see the Herald fight Commander. Anger does her well on the battlefield."
"We had better hope so," Cullen muttered, rubbing his brows roughly. "Or we are all dead."
The Qunari's gray skin was pulled tight across his face, his lips spread out into a deadly smile. His cheeks were actually sore, from laughing and grinning so much the past few days. The Iron Bull's new found company had proven to be more entertaining than he had bargained for. The red-haired dwarf, Varric, was quicker than a whip and he quite enjoyed his new nickname, 'Tiny'. The mage, Solas, was not a chatterbox but Bull found his derision of humans amusing. The Herald, or Ashlyn as she insisted on being called, was certainly the best though. The pair had been in stitches for most of their travels, sharing stories of old jobs and fellow mercenaries. She was sharp and curious, beautiful and fierce. Both a lion and lamb. The Iron Bull was certainly interested in where his travels with the Inquisition would lead.
Now, he found himself in a crumbling tower swinging his double-headed ax at Avvar, with a shit-eating grin still plastered to his face. His heavy boots climbed over loose stones and rubble, as he neared the leader of the camp. The four companions had proven to be quite a good team. Varric and Solas were lingering behind, using a deadly combination of freezing spells with shattering bolts. They hid in the shadows, evading the deadly swing from the Avvar leader. A flicker shot by the Iron Bull, as Ashlyn slid across the floor. The Avvar buckled as she sliced the back of his leathered legs with her dagger. As he stumbled, Iron Bull jumped at the opportunity and geared up for another blow.
Grabbing a discarded steel knife off of a body, Ashlyn twisted around quickly before sending the blade twirling through the air. It struck the chest of an archer, who had been in mid-draw with their bow aimed at the Iron Bull. Smirking, Ashlyn watched the body topple over itself down the stairs. But her smile quickly faded as she let out a loud grunt, as she felt the cold sensation of metal on her side quickly being replaced by the warming sensation of blood. Gritting her white teeth, she whipped around with newfound anger. The strike was from the longsword of a reaver, who had frozen the moment he laid eyes on Ashlyn's face — her gray eyes were ablaze and nostrils flared. Her onyx dagger soon met his chest, slipping in under the swordsman's ribcage. All that was left was the Avvar leader.
Iron Bull and the leader were still going at it, their double headed axes clashing together like thunder. Varric and Solas had emerged from the shadows of the pillars, carefully taking aim as they hurtled spells and bolts towards the enemy. The Qunari's attention flickered to Ashlyn, who was slinking behind the Avvar leader unnoticed. With a nod of approval, Iron Bull held up his ax in front of him, defending himself for another heavy swing. The Herald used the moment of distraction, to sprint and leap up onto the unsuspecting Avvar's back. She gripped on to the leather straps of his armour, and raised her dagger to the front of his throat. With a quick motion, she slit it before leaping off with such a force that the large body thumped loudly to the floor, scattering the loose stones around them.
Heavy breath was all that could be heard for a moment, before Iron Bull let out a booming laugh. "Let's do that again!" He wiped the sweat off of his face with the back of his grey hand.
"Is everyone okay?" Varric called, as he climbed over a large pile of rubble.
"All things considered, yes," Solas replied, staring down at the Avvar bodies by his feet.
Ashlyn looked over her comrades, who other than being sweaty, dusty and extremely tired, seemed unharmed. She felt for her own side, which was sticky with blood and bit her lip. She pulled the leather belt she usually wore lazily around her hips up higher, tightening it around her waist. The pressure caused her to gasp out in pain, causing Varric to worry. "You alright Freckles?"
"Yeah, I'm fine." She assured him, smiling faintly." Let's just find where they have been keeping our men." She promised herself that she would look after the wound, once she knew that the Commander's soldiers were okay.
The trio of companions followed the Herald across the room, stumbling over the debris and bodies until they reached a bolted wooden door. Ashlyn expertly pried the lock off, before swinging the door open.
"Herald of Andraste!" They had found them. The small room was filled with over a dozen Inquisition soldiers, huddled around together on the floor. One of the men jumped to his feet.
"Is everyone alright?" Ashlyn asked worrying, grabbing on to a soldier.
His eyes widen at her touch, and he gulped as he spoke. "Yes, your worship. The injured need some rest … but we can return on our own."
Her dark eyebrows furrowed together, "Nonsense, we will all return to Haven together." She bent down onto her knees to look at the soldiers who were laying on the floor, crippled in pain with blood staining the Inquisition's colours. Ashlyn reached to her belt loop to find a health potion but found it was empty. "How many potions do we have left?"
"Two," Varric replied, as he was the only one who had some leftover from their travels and battles the past few days.
"Do you know any healing spells?" One of the soldiers asked Solas, sounding hopeful.
Solas looked down to the ground, embarrassed. "I… do not. I am sorry."
They gave the last of their two potions to the most injured of the soldiers and gathered them up. Iron Bull carried a soldier who was slipping in and out, while the other was wedged between Ashlyn and his comrade as he limped out of the crumbling building. "We passed a cart, on our way up here. You men can rest as our horses pull it." Ashlyn said to the men following behind her in a hurry.
"Thank you Herald, for saving us. We… we weren't sure what we would do."
For once Ashlyn did not grimace at the title but instead gave them a weak smile. "Of course, we will never let our people down." She tried to sound confident in her words, but her stomach felt queasy. If only the men she had saved knew that she had originally come here to spite the commander.
Two soldiers behind her spoke to each other in hushed whispers. "I can't believe the Herald came for us."
"I told you she'd come!" The other said triumphantly. Ashlyn suddenly felt even worse.
After recruiting the Sky Walker to the Inquisition, the group made their way back through the twists and traps of the Fallow Mire. It was a slow process, but Ashlyn let out a loud sigh of relief when they got to the Inquisition camp on the edge of the bog. The two agents manning the station came sprinting up to the large group vibrating.
"Herald, you rescued them!" One let out, sounding surprised. "Andraste's breath!"
"Thank you, for the vote of confidence," Ashlyn mumbled to herself, before continuing to speak to the agents. "We will need your cart for requisitions, and as many health potions as you have."
"Of course, we will tether your horses to the cart immediately. But I am afraid that neither of us are herbalists. We have no potions left."
When Ashlyn let out a curse, the agent began to apologize profusely. "No, no. It is not your fault. I know a few tricks that should help them along our journey. Please send word to Haven that we are returning with the missing soldiers." She commanded, before turning on her heel to grab the horses.
"You're actually going to send an official report of your return to Haven?" Varric asked, sounding perplexed.
"Yes." She answered sternly, as she looked towards the edge of the water. Her nimble fingers grazed through the bushes, plucking out green leaves here and there. Ashlyn emerged with two handfuls of elfroot leaves. "Tell the men to chew these softly, they won't heal them but they will numb the pain."
Varric nodded, before taking the leaves and handing them out to the soldiers. They were all piled high in the wooden cart that the Inquisition agents had wheeled forward for them. Ashlyn wandered over to her own horse, grabbing on to the edge of the saddle. She muffled a groan as she straddled the animal — her side throbbing painfully. Tugging at her tight leather belt, she looked down at the bloody gash that lay just above her hip. With a wince, she moved the band back around the wound. Shoving a few elfroot leaves into the pouch of her cheek, Ashlyn watched as a raven glided to the north towards Haven.
The navy sky was twinkling with white stars, the light shining down over top of the grassy hills. The soldiers were squished in together in the creaking cart, being pulled by Varric and Solas' beige horses. Everyone was riding in silence, with most of the men dozing off hazily whilst the squad kept their eyes wide — scanning the horizon. One of the men who was still up, had his feet dangling off of the back of the cart. He watched them sway back and forth with the bumping of their travels before he tempted a look behind him at the Herald. She was riding just in front of the group, trotting slowly in order to not get too far ahead. She was mesmerizing — her silky hair was waving in the wind, and even from far away the lines of her waist and hips could be seen. Suddenly, there was a chuckle and the soldier flashed his gaze back forward.
The Iron Bull was smiling at him, having noticed his gaze. "She's something, isn't she?"
The soldier's face went red, but he nodded. "I've never seen someone so beautiful."
The Qunari raised his eyebrows, agreeing. "Beautiful, but deadly. A dangerously attractive combination in women, my friend." He eyed Ashlyn's silhouette ahead of him and steered his reigns towards her. As he approached, he watched as she quickly changed her posture and attempted to sit up a little straighter. As he greeted her, he noticed her weak smile. "What's going on?" He asked when he noticed a shimmer on her hand.
With a sigh, Ashlyn held her hand out into the white moonlight — it was red with blood. As quickly as she had shown it to Iron Bull, she had it snapped back to her side gritting her teeth in pain. Abruptly, he reached over and tugged on the reigns of Ashlyn's horse bringing them both to a stop. "Stop the cart!" He bellowed, before jumping off of his mount. He ignored the mumbles of confusion from Varric and Solas, as he carefully moved Ashlyn's hand off of her side to look at the wound. "Vashedan…" He muttered as he watched the blood start to ooze slightly from the lack of pressure. Pressing his gray fingers to it, he met Ashlyn's eyes. "Did this happen in the Avvar camp?" He demanded.
"Yes," She breathed, her eyebrows furrowed together.
"Why didn't you tell us?!" Iron Bull barked furiously. "You're an idiot to think you would have made it to Haven okay."
"I didn't have any other choice." She hissed, her eyes turning icy. "It was either heal them or me. They are our men. I would never sacrifice their lives for my own. And I know you would never ask the Chargers that either."
He eyed the ground, "You are right. But this was a risk. This is a risk. You are the Herald — we are all dead without you."
"That was a risk I was willing to take," Ashlyn said, her voice unwavering.
"Solas!" Iron Bull called, "Come take a look at this." He continued to press his fingers against the sword wound until the elf had appeared. "I know you said you can't do any healing spells, but we need to do something about this." He lifted his fingers slightly, revealing Ashlyn's bloody side.
"Oh, I…" Solas seemed lost for words for a moment. "Yes, to stop the bleeding perhaps. It will be uncomfortable, however." He looked concerned, as he stared at the blood now covering Iron Bull's hands. "Shall we try that?"
Ashlyn nodded, before tensing herself up in defence. She let out a grunt as she felt the burn of magic waving over her side. Looking down she watched as a layer of ice crystals formed on her side, sealing the wound. Gritting her teeth, she adjusted herself on her horse — feeling the tugging of her skin against the ice. "Ahh," She let out a yell, before pursing her lips tight to muffle it. Noticing her companions staring up at her worriedly, she let out a breathy, "I'm okay. Thank you, Solas."
"We have to hurry back. The spell can cause ice burns, hypothermia. It will stop the bleeding temporarily, but..." Solas trailed off.
"Then we ride. Fast." The Iron Bull said through gritted teeth. Solas nodded before turning on his heel back towards Varric and the cartload of soldiers. "Are you ok to ride alone?"
Ashlyn nodded, wrapping her scarf around her shoulders to shield off the cold. As she shivered, she realized that the cold was not from the temperature.
"It would be better if you rode with me, but we need to save our horse's energy. It will be too much weight. I'll be right next to you though." He climbed onto his mount, before signalling towards Varric and Solas.
The pair began to ride together, Iron Bull glancing over to the Herald constantly and Ashlyn hunched over clutching her reigns. "I may be new to the Inquisition," Iron Bull yelled over the loud trotting of hooves, "But I already know how important you are. You need to realize that too." The group kicked up their speed as they descended a hill, the horizon starting to lighten as twilight began to near its end.
Haven was coloured an orange-pink as the sun began to creep up behind skyline. The sandy tents scattered in the snow in front of the gates were rustling with a slight breeze. Sleepy soldiers crawled out of them, the sugary scent of cooking porridge waking them up. The groggy men began to form a line in front of the bubbling black pot, sitting on the flickering fire. The Commander stood near the front of the line, whispering good morning to his soldiers as the clasped their breakfast to their chest for warmth. The wind snarled Cullen's curly blonde hair, as he looked out at the frozen lake of Haven. He blinked himself back to reality as one of the Inquisition's cooks, Sisennia, pushed a bowl into his hands. An embarrassed smile spread across his face, as he realized he was caught daydreaming. Thanking her, Cullen moved to sit next to his lieutenant.
"I think we could warm up with hand to hand, this morning Commander?" The young man asked nervously, stirring his own breakfast repeatedly.
"Yes, that sounds good," Cullen replied absently, as he sat down on the log. He shovelled a spoonful of the milky grains into his mouth, as he stared out over the lake. He could hear the buzzing of words around him but was not taking any of them in. The Commander had found himself distracted these past few days, feeling completely overwhelmed with guilt and worry. Staring over the frozen Tundra that was Haven, his mind flickered between his soldiers who needed more training in order to ensure their survival and the message they had received from their scouts in the Fallowmire. They had reported that all missing soldiers were accounted for, and the Herald was bringing them back to Haven immediately. But he was still worried for their safety.
He absently chewed the sugary oats, when a hand on his shoulder shook him back to reality. Blinking, he looked over to his lieutenant sitting next to him, whose eyes were wide. "Commander, look!" A gloved finger pointed out across the snowy hills of Haven. "A horse with no rider!" A blur of black stood stark against the winter scene, as the horse cascaded towards Haven.
Cullen's heart went up into his throat, his bowl slipping out of his fingers and falling onto the floor. Instinctively, he pushed himself up and started to trudge through the snow. The tail of his cloak flickered around him as he moved faster and faster towards the horse. "Commander!" He heard one of his soldiers call, but he ignored them. Wrapping the fur of his cloak closer around him, he shielded himself from the snowy wind coming down the side of the hill.
The creature reached Cullen first, neighing and kicking up its hooves anxiously. He recognized it as Ashlyn's, it's glossy black mane tossing around. The Commander raised his cold hands up to the mount, grabbing onto the bridle and tugging it gently. The horse calmed for a moment, it's brown eyes still wide. "Bring me to her," Cullen whispered to it before stepping up onto the horse and straddling it. Almost immediately the horse took off again, barreling up the steep white hill it had just come down.
The horse and its rider kicked up tufts of snow as they weaved in and out of trees and stones, and splashing up icy cold water as they rode over a stream. Cullen's breath was puffy and white in front of him, as the horse took him into the unknown. It struck him that he was completely weaponless if something were to happen, as his sword and shield were still sitting next to the field tent back in Haven. He prayed they would not find trouble.
As they came out into a clearing, Cullen spotted another rider. Digging his heels into his own mount, they began speeding towards them. The closer the other rider got, the farther up Cullen's heart climbed in his throat. The silhouette was all he could see — large and muscular with horns. Something was being carried in their arms, cradled to them. "Makers, no." He had already dismounted before the horse had even come to a stop, as he ran over to the other rider. "Is she alive?!" Cullen demanded, looking up at the Qunari who remained on his horse.
"Yes, for now." Iron Bull looked Cullen up and down, noticing his armour. "Are you the Inquisition's Commander?"
"I, uh, yes." He replied, flustered. He was distracting by Ashlyn's flopping head, how her brown hair was waving off of the side of the Asaarash horse. "You are the Iron Bull?"
He nodded. "I sent Ashlyn's horse ahead, to try and get some attention. She needs a healer, now. How far is Haven from here?" Cullen watched as the Qunari tightened his grip around Ashlyn, steadying her.
"A five-minute ride." The Commander remounted Ashlyn's horse, grabbing the reigns with tight knuckles. He looked back to the Iron Bull.
"Your men are with Solas and Varric, they aren't too far behind us. I can manage Ashlyn if you want to go to them."
Cullen felt torn in two, thinking of his men trudging and suffering in the snow, after all they must have gone through in the Fallow Mire. But he stared at Ashlyn, awkwardly smushed in the crook of the Iron Bull's large elbow. Her usual olive skin was turning pale and her eyes drooped shut. "I will see to my men later, they will understand. Besides, I don't know how well Haven will react to a strange Qunari charging them on horseback with the Herald lying unconscious in his arms."
Iron Bull let out a dry laugh, "Good call," Before he turned serious again. "Let's ride."